“Long, beautiful, gleaming, steaming, flaxen, waxen…I adore hair, just not on my arms and back.” –Jeff Brown
When I was a kid, grooming came pretty easy to me. All I had to do was get out of bed and comb my hair. If it was a special occasion, I’d brush my teeth. Then puberty kicked in and my morning routine became infinitely more difficult.
Overnight it seemed I had to worry about a whole host of other annoying and time consuming chores like shaving, dealing with pimples, and deciding if I should wear my white pants to high school or not.
Interesting Fact: I did wear them once and I was pretty disappointed by the end of the day. Nobody said I looked like Don Johnson from Miami Vice.
Now I’m in my forties and, boy let me tell you this: grooming isn’t getting any easier. Specifically, I’m talking about the incredible speed in which my arm hair grows. If not properly clipped at regular intervals, it grows longer and longer until I look like I have a pair of Aquaman fins sprouting from the tops of my forearms.
Let me take a brief moment to defend my favorite master of the oceans. Perhaps you’ve heard the jokes that Aquaman is a useless superhero whose only power is the ability to talk to fish. Here’s all I have to say about that: Can you breathe underwater? Do you have superhuman strength? Have you ever ridden shotgun to Wonder Woman in the invisible jet?
Yeah, I didn’t think so.
Where was I? Oh, yes. Does anybody out there know a good arm barber? I thank God every day it doesn’t grow that way on my back. (So does my wife.)
Speaking of freakish forearm attributes, I’ve noticed recently whenever I turn on the TV, I see people with tattoos. Not just one tasteful tattoo declaring unconditional devotion to Mom, but a potpourri of tattoos. Yes, a regular mélange, pastiche, hodgepodge, mishmash, or patchwork of tattoos that completely span their arms, legs, necks, chests and backs. Think the History channel’s Pawn Stars, Danielle from American Pickers, or Adam Levine from NBC’s The Voice.
I have to admit I’m not a huge fan of these body murals or “sleeves.” (Are neck tattoos called collars?) Their popularity, however, has got me thinking. Maybe I could start my own fad featuring my flowing, shiny, luxurious forearm hair. Perhaps I could groom it in the style of an 80’s rock band, color it yellow, and spike it with gel.
Catchphrase: I pity the fool without a forearm Mohawk.
As I mentioned earlier, I’m not getting any younger. Pretty soon I might start going gray. I wonder if there’s a coloring product out there called Just for Men’s Arms. Of course, if I start losing my hair to forearm-male-pattern-baldness, I might miss it. Is there a Hair Club for Men’s Arms?
All this talk about forearm grooming is wearing me out just thinking about it. Maybe I could avoid it all by wearing superhero gloves. You know– the ones that go all the way up to the elbow. If I wore those every day, nobody would ever notice I’m letting myself go. Yep, I’d look completely normal.
Who knows? Maybe like the mythical Samson, my flowing, shiny, luxurious forearm hair would eventually give me supernatural strength. If that’s the case, move over Aquaman.
I’m riding shotgun.